by Cat Gardiner
Lovingly, he wiped the remnants of age and neglect away, shaking his head as he removed from a third pouch—the mezuzah his mother brought with her from Amsterdam. Set aside by her, she had always meant for it to be placed at the threshold of her family home when it was safe to declare, “We are under G-d’s watchful care. We are Jews, and we will keep his commandments.” She always hoped the day would come when a utopian world of harmony vanquished prejudice and antisemitism.
“You were right, Will. Too many secrets for far too long,” he declared crossing the room, holding the long forgotten religious items, now considered priceless treasure.
Stopping at the open door of the bedroom, he turned and blew a kiss back to the room. “Give a special kiss to our son, sweetheart. You’re a lucky girl to have him all to yourself now. Take care of him until we are all together again. I love you.”
He left the room, descended the stairs, and then exited the house. It no longer felt as though held in a death grip. It now felt at rest and at peace. Just as he did.
~~*~~
Forty minutes later the still pristine black Cadillac navigated the winding hills of Glen Cove, drawing attention from passing drivers. One young fella even gave him a thumbs-up at a stop sign on the corner of Landing and Crescent Beach Roads as he neared his destination. This car made him feel young and virile. That was the purpose when he purchased it at the height of his midlife crisis. Thank G-d all it took was a car to help him over that hump. Together, he and Lillian made many good memories in the generous backseat. He chortled at the remembrance.
For kicks and curiosity, he deliberately drove past the remains of Meercrest’s crumbling archway. Only having visited on the solitary occasion of Memorial Day in ’42, he was surprised how easily he found Rosebud Lane. That now-famous snapshot of the entrance to the estate, the one he took on that long ago day, Juliana had been passing around like a marijuana cigarette to anyone who might want to participate in her detective work. That brought about a laugh, too. Today was turning out to be one of the best days he had in a long time. He felt rejuvenated having purged his feelings over his and Lillian’s role in adding to Will’s pain. He felt open to the possibilities before him.
Picturesque and peaceful, the former Pratt estate, now turned museum, greeted Louie. His gaze immediately drew to the towering Elm tree surrounded by gardens at the far right of the grounds.
“You did good, Pistol,” he said following a long whistle and nod of admiration. “He’d be proud of you even if you broke his heart. Hell, I’m proud of you and I know Lillian is, too.”
Very few cars sat in the parking lot on this Friday, but he was pleased to see an empty school bus, obviously waiting at the ready for its class of visiting students. Like the bright yellow against the serene green of the trees, Louie’s recollection of teaching Gordon about the Holocaust burst into his mind’s eye. His sensitive son had cried. His memory quickly turned toward another serious parenting moment. Lillian had garnered a completely different reaction when she attempted to explain to their young son about the birds and the bees. For a minute or two she thought he would cry, but then she outright suffered to keep a straight face when he finally, simply but loudly, proclaimed, “Yuck.” Yes, the sweet and the sorrow always went hand in hand.
He parked the Caddy, paid his admission, and held tightly to the map and welcome pamphlet. Straining eyes took in a history he had long pushed further and further to the recesses of his mind. Images lined the walls, reminding him that the DeVrieses had a testimony in this tale, one that went beyond Lillian’s story. If it weren’t for his jewel, well then, he might not have ever felt the call to “go home,” back to his roots and history—the joyful and the horror-filled.
Subconsciously, he ran his index finger around his shirt collar, an uncomfortable, anxious sweat breaking upon his brow.
The carefree, innocent laughter of children running down the hall toward the door of an exhibit room stopped him, giving him pause. The sign against the wall at their destination read: The Diary of Anne Frank.
Even over the chatter and the beating of his heart in his ears, he could hear the multi-media sounds of war and personal stories at the end of the hall. Of their own accord, his tassel-loafered feet remained glued to the hardwood floor below him, vacillating whether or not he could go on. It had been so long since he faced the truths of his ancestry.
A woman’s pleasant voice breached his sudden wary inertia. “Can I direct you, sir?”
He turned to meet a gentle, concerned smile, one he always thought was reserved for the elderly.
She pointed to the brochure. “Are you looking for a particular exhibit or would you care to start at the beginning?”
The middle-aged woman was striking with long, brown, curly hair, and a thoughtful expression that seemed so familiar. Tall, slender and obviously a woman who took care of her appearance, she wore a simple beige blouse and a camel colored skirt that almost reached her sandals.
“I … um … yes, I appear to be lost. I’m looking for the American Red Cross exhibit. My granddaughter mentioned that there is a Story of Courage to Lillian Renner.”
Louie didn’t know what possessed the woman, but she hooked her arm within his. Of course, he completely didn’t mind. She was quite a dish and the latent wolf in him couldn’t help accepting the attention. He may be officially off the market and seventy-three, but he wasn’t dead.
“Well, I’ll take you there myself. That is a story worth hearing.” She chortled and that too seemed familiar. “Actually, they are all worth hearing, but I have a particular love for Lillian Renner.”
Now that got his attention. “Oh? Why is that?”
Arm in arm, they walked slowly down the corridor. “Well, she was a remarkable woman, quite an inspiration. One of the thousands of pioneers who ushered in the feminist movement during the World War Two era. She had a mind of her own to break free from the constraints and expectations of the affluent society into which she was born, instead choosing to volunteer with hard work, sacrifice, and dedication for the war relief.”
“That’s unusual of debs back then,” he interrupted, holding back a smile.
“It was! Before the WAC, the WAVES and even the WASP came into existence, Lillian joined the American Red Cross—the ARC, even being younger than the official age requirements and was determined to make a difference. She changed the narrative of marrying young, remaining barefoot and pregnant.”
“She sounds like quite a woman,” Louie said, his heart swelling.
“Oh she was! Lillian was brave on so many levels. In a sense, she’s my hero. I know for a fact that she was my mother’s hero, and her Story of Courage introduces her to many young women who arrive through these doors eager to learn, teaching them that they, too, can make a difference and change lives by exhibiting pride without prejudice. They can be and do anything they want.”
Louie was choked up just hearing how this woman praised his girl. Sure, he had been proud of Lillian, loved her beyond measure, and knew of her unabashed spirit of idealism, but he had no idea that others, too, thought the same way. They stopped at the door to the exhibit.
“Well, here we are, sir.”
He peered in, afraid of the sappy feelings about to bring him to tears in this public place beside this stranger—as kind as she was.
“Don’t you want to go in?”
He wiped his brow. “I do.” He paused, turning to look into the woman’s fine eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Annette Churchill. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand for a shake. “And what’s your name?”
“I’m Lillian’s husband, Louie Martel.”
When she gave him a full-blown grin, he knew there was more to this Annette Churchill than had initially met the eye. He was staring right back into his brother’s dimpled smile. Suddenly it was all clear. She was the reason Lizzy married John in Will’s absence.
Louie didn’t relinquish her hand, continuing to hold onto her
as he smiled his most mischievous grin. “You’re Lizzy’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I am!”
~~*~~
Twenty-Eight
Sisters
December 17, 1942
Over six weeks had passed since that horrible night with her father at Greystone townhouse, a night Lizzy had tried to forget, but to no avail. Diligently attentive to his comings and goings, she could not find anything that pointed to him being a true Nazi sympathizer or worse—collaborator. There was no evidence that the items of propaganda in Meercrest’s library were his and there was nothing otherwise untoward to be found. Even his flagrant infidelity with the willing blonde, undisputed by her own observation, seemed carefully hidden. For that, she was thankful because, as disappointing a mother as Frances was, she still didn’t deserve a philandering husband.
No, his only crimes were an unquestionable, pompous, Germanic arrogance and the clear fact that he had shown himself to be as anti-Semitic as Ingrid. Bigotry and excessive pride were character flaws to be sure, ones that diminished her daughterly affection for him significantly, but in no way did they verify that her father was what Will believed him to be. She was determined to prove that estimation wrong. However, the one thing that truly troubled her was how on earth her father had discovered that Will’s mother’s family were Jews. Will explained that was a secret tightly held by his family for almost forty years.
Lizzy walked past the Aeolin pipe organ prominently situated by the base of the entrance steps where Mr. Howard and one of the maids, unceasingly worked entwining evergreen into the banister of the public hall.
Thanksgiving had come and gone, and now Christmas decorations showcased the full splendor of Meercrest. Decorated fir trees stood elegant in every room and each fireplace mantle was adorned with pine as plenteous swags and boughs hung lavishly throughout the mansion. The decorations were early by some standards, but not for those in the Social Registry. The upcoming weekend launched a series of balls and festivities until concluding on Twelfth Night, but it all commenced at their estate.
Mrs. Davis had stocked the pantry with the girls’ favorite holiday treats, acquiring sugar, and now coffee, through illegal black market channels. Beef, even though in short supply, was purchased from whatever dubious contacts could be contrived. Frances didn’t care where these expected commodities came from so long as they were available. She, herself, rarely drank coffee, only occasionally partaking in the new craze of Irish Coffee, but she hated the Irish—Catholics as they all were.
The overpowering scent of pine turned Lizzy’s stomach nauseous as she made her way through the grand marble foyer, passing the Degas painting her mother, just the day before, had Mr. Howard re-install above the ornate Eighteenth Century gilded console. Outgoing mail sat upon the silver tray awaiting the afternoon visit of the letter carrier, Mr. Murphy. She hoped Will would receive her Christmas greeting card in time. After all, this was the postal service’s busiest season, particularly during wartime, and she was late in mailing it. If only she hadn’t been so tired and had purchased one sooner. With less than two weeks for it to get to England—or wherever he was—she was sure it wouldn’t arrive in time but she hoped her last letter, filled with all the right sentiments, would.
Ingrid strolled past her in the west hallway, having just come through the family entrance. As usual, she looked gorgeous, right down to those perfectly sculpted eyebrows and that fake beauty mark above her lip. “You’re looking positively ghastly, Lizzy.”
“Gee thanks, you look stunning as well. Love the dead animal draped over your shoulder. Looks like something I saw flattened on the side of the road.”
“Don’t be so droll. Red fox stoles are all the rage. You could use a little color to brighten up that peaked complexion of yours, perhaps a little rouge. Are you ill?”
Lizzy’s false smile matched the sarcastic tone in her voice. She was in no mood for this challenge from her sister, not today. “No. I’m not sick, just disgusted by your obvious penchant toward death.”
“You’d better not be ill. Mother will have a fit. The Society’s Christmas Ball is in two days, and you are expected to be at your best as her co-hostess. Many of Father’s most influential business associates will be in attendance, and I plan to make an announcement with John. I cannot be expected to act as hostess since I am the guest of honor.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, I am serious.” She held her chin higher with an air of superiority. “Father has assured me that my offered dowry will guarantee the engagement. It’s a natural match. Robertsen Aviation with Renner Railways. It’ll be the talk of the society pages.”
Lizzy chortled. “So, you’ve had to pay off Johnny. That’s a gas! He’d be a fool to agree to marry you otherwise.”
“He hasn’t quite said yes yet, but rest assured he will. He’s been in love with me forever.”
“I wonder, Ingrid, what will George Gebhardt have to say about your announcement?”
Ingrid took a step closer to her, eyes narrowing to mean slits of cold blue ice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious that’s all. Whose bed will you share once you’re married? After all, you are a share crop.”
Ingrid’s hand was swift but not as swift as Lizzy’s quick step backward, barely avoiding the malicious slap aimed at her cheek.
“Be careful with that sharp tongue of yours, sister dear. Between you and Kitty, I just don’t know who should receive the majority of my attention,” Ingrid threatened.
Lizzy’s voice lowered an octave, all traces of its melody or her customary effervescence were vanquished from her steely words. “Stay away from Kitty.”
“Or what? What will you do? You’re as worthless as she is. Just like Lillian, you’re not fit to bear the Renner name now that you’ve fraternized with a Jew, even if he is dreamy looking.”
“And what makes you assume that?”
“Oh, I have my ways. Tell me, Lizzy … is he circumcised?”
Now it was Lizzy whose hand was swift, achieving firm contact. The slap was in defense of Will; the words following the strike were for Kitty. “If you go anywhere near Kitty, you will have to answer to me, and I assure you, I’m not as docile as you think. As for Johnny, you better ditch him and this conniving plan of yours, or I’ll flap my lips to the society pages about what a bigot and whore you really are. Then we’ll see who’ll want to marry Miss Ingrid Renner! Money won’t save your tarnished reputation.”
Ingrid laughed, showing no effect to the sting on her cheek. “Why, Elizabeth, I should think you would want me to marry John. Then I wouldn’t have to look at those shriveled legs of Kitty’s every day. I’d be taking up residence at the Robertsens’ estate Evermore in Mill Neck.”
“Yes, that’s right. You would be miles from harming her, far from pushing her down the stairs.” She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“You’re such a naïve fool, Lizzy. Distance won’t stop me. You’ll see. It won’t be long before New York State finally mandates compulsory sterilization.” Turning her back, she walked away, not even glancing over a shoulder to bid her sister adieu. “We’ll see whose threats hold more weight. Your Juden scheiss isn’t here to protect you or your deformed sister.”
“Such Christmas spirit, Ingrid. Peace on earth and goodwill toward all men. Not only have you become a shameless harlot, but you’re a barbaric zealot, too. You make me positively sick to my stomach.”
Lizzy watched the confident sway exaggerating her sister’s hips with each departing step she took. When she flung the poor red creature around her neck over her shoulder, the accompanying malevolent cackle echoed through the paneled walls of the stoic hallway. A chill shot up Lizzy’s spine until the distracting, welcome squeak of Kitty’s wheelchair in the entrance foyer alerted her that the postman had come and gone.
Her favorite sister loved to get the mail. It seemed to be the one task she looked upon as her contribution
to the Renner family, validating her and providing her with an opportunity to not appear so … so useless. Twice a day, she greeted Mr. Murphy, handing him the outgoing mail, carefully sorting the incoming post into piles, then personally delivering all of Lizzy’s correspondence from Will.
Lizzy’s false smile couldn’t hide her tumultuous feelings over Ingrid, or the fact that she was indeed ill for the past two weeks straight and, additionally, now felt a head cold coming on.
“Kitty, you shouldn’t be at that door. It’s below freezing out there.”
“I know. Just doing my bit. There’s no mail from Ducky this afternoon.”
“He’s probably overwhelmed with training or the squadron’s departure for England. I haven’t received a letter in a few days, but I know he’ll write when he can. He told me that there may be a delay.” Having reached her sister, she pushed the wheelchair from behind, giving a quick glance to the silver tray to ensure Will’s Christmas card was now en route.
“How are you feeling, sissy?” Lizzy asked. “Is your cold any better today? Maybe you should have stayed in bed.”
Kitty blew her nose, congestion distorting her speech. “I feel like you look. What is wrong with you?”
Lizzy met the query with silence.
“Lizzy?”
They headed down the east hall, wheels squeaking and soft footfalls patterning in unison to the beating of Lizzy’s thundering heart. “I’m keen on visiting the solarium today. How about you? It’s a sunny day and it’ll be nice and toasty in there. Perhaps some quiet time for you and me is just what the doctor ordered.”
“I think that’s better than that disgusting cod liver oil Nurse Keller makes me take. I swear, I think she enjoys giving me that stuff.”
In companionable silence, they passed through a long corridor lined with statuary and massive family portraits peering down on them with disapproval. Even those were ceremoniously draped with evergreen, leaving no wonder to an imaginative mind as to why they frowned so. Several open anteroom doors revealed maids hard at work, dusting every nook and curio, busily preparing for the upcoming ball, the event of the social holiday season and one Lizzy had once looked forward to with gleeful anticipation. Inevitably the belle of the ball, dancing and flirting with society’s most sought after bachelors had always been a gay time. Not this year. In fact, following the wonderful visit with Will, she had entirely forgotten about it until her arrival home.
